I didn’t know they could exist. I had seen signs of what I thought might be a mixture of two states of being which are on opposite ends of the emotional spectrum. So it was that I began to observe what I call the Narcissistic Empath to see if I could find a pattern in this type of human.

As I have observed over the years, a pattern which emerged for me was something new and undefinable. It wavered between Narcissism and Empathy. Yet, it was not completely either of the two.

Being an Empath (highly sensitive person) my intuition is finely tuned. I can go into the multiple ways in which I “see and feel” human beings. The reason I share this part of me is to give you a glimpse of how I see others.

I am a behavior watcher. I listen to words, and then I sit back and deeply observe the individual’s behavior. This behavioral pattern which was emerging in this type of person felt like something slightly different.

After having an association with a couple of them for a few years, I now see a definition for this type of human, the Narcissistic Empath.

How can this be? I asked myself this question. How can one be both a Narcissist AND an Empath?

According to psychology, narcissists cannot feel at all. Albeit, I am no scientist with a PhD after my name. I am a self-educated person who has spent hours and years studying psychological subjects out of sheer curiosity and need to understand the workings of the human mind. I began this study to understand my own childhood and journey in life.

When the realization sunk into me that this is what I was observing, I set out to specifically find personality types that fit these exact criteria. Three main patterns emerged in my observation.

1. Narcissistic Empaths are very loving and protective with those they care deeply for. They are softer with the way they communicate with those people. They are less apt to be cruel. They are more sensitive to their loved ones’ needs. It is genuine sensitivity. They are patient and aware of their words.

2. They don’t give a damn about people they do not know or have an interest in only sexually and will often make these types their targets. They target strangers. With strangers there is no emotional connection for them.

3. They are palpable. They change. I watched one associate spend a long period of time in a very positive mindset. They were very dedicated to their creative craft. Their interactions were loving and kind. Then an event happened in their life which hurt them deeply. Enter their Narcissistic state of being, in which they are currently sunk. The projector behavior has been the most disparaging to observe. They teeter from positivity to downright meanness, depending on which way their current state of being has leaned.

The Narcissistic Empath seems to be one who teeter totters from one side to the other depending on who they are dealing with and what their personal situation is. It is natural for all humans to have a change in behavior if things in their life get rough.

However, a Narcissistic Empath will take it to the extreme, projecting in vicious and often very convoluted ideals. Yet, what is the difference between a Narcissist and a Narcissistic Empath? The Narcissistic Empath will still be kind to those they love and actually feel it deeply. This is different from the Narcissist who feels nothing and will, without care, abuse those they love. The full on Narcissist fakes their empathy. A Narcissistic Empath fakes nothing. Their Narcissism is real and so is their empathy.

There are many quotes available from “gurus”, urging humans to rid themselves of ego. Yet, the definition of ego is simply a self-identity. So, in fact, it is necessary to have an ego/self-identify. The inflation of the self-identity into an unrealistic self-view is what creates the definition for being egoistic. There should be balance in the human ego. It is the center of who we are. When there is unbalance in our authentic self-identity, it is akin to a rocking boat on a choppy sea.

Could the Empathic side heal the narcissistic side of these humans? If so, what would it take? Was it possible to have both a cold and unfeeling part and a deeply loving part; to switch back and forth between the two? Oh yes. Humans do it every day. Yet it’s not Bipolar or even Borderline Personality Disorder in what I have observed. Still, these people are different, from bipolar and BPD people.

The Empath sees life deeper and in a completely different way, based often out of cosmology minded DNA. The Empath feels things the that non-Empaths are feeling. The Empath absorbs. They see into others; their pains and passions, and I wondered if part of the Narcissistic Empath was also a shutting down to feeling because of the heaviness it can sometimes carry, to be a highly sensitive person. I know of Empaths who do drugs or drink to numb the influx of emotion, using synthetics as a blocker, unable to create their own sense of balance by getting to know themselves deeply.

I believe that the Narcissistic Empath can heal by making deep positive choices toward self-love and having willingness to do concentrated work on themselves.

If they clean their social environment and the self-deprecating thoughts that they use to both degrade themselves and justify the times they lash out, I am of the belief that eventually, with daily routine, the Narcissistic Empath will heal the “dead” part of themselves and be able to become an Embodied Empath, fully in their power and sight, knowing how to balance it and throw away the un-needed junk.

I am observing a few such individuals to continue studying this state of being. I want to see which paths they each decide to take over the next few years. I want to know which part of them will “win” based on which path they choose.

How do you tell the difference? That is a loaded question since Narcissists are adept at faking empathy. However, one thing I’ve noticed about the Narcissist. If one knows what to look for, they’re not that good at faking empathy at all. The sign of their narcissism will always show its face.

With a Narcissistic Empath, there is a turning which happens. The empathy is consistent, present, and genuine. There seems to always be a major event that swings them to the side of shutting down all emotion. They make it through small bumps, but the larger ones make their empathy disappear. Then the Narcissistic phase will remain until they heal the pain. Once the pain is healed, they move back into their genuine Empath selves.

It’s like a mold which needs to be removed and the only one who can remove it is the homeowner.

This is where the work comes in. This is where humans tend to falter, and understandably so. It hurts to heal.

We must face all the torn parts of ourselves that are triggered when we are hurt. Yet, our self-identity can be that of a torn shirt. We grab our needle and thread and stitch the hole. Sometimes we have to re-stitch it, but we stitch it all the same.

So then, we can also stitch the patterns of our pain into beautiful patch works, covering ourselves with the finished blanket of self induced empathy. This, dear ones, is a path to self-healing.

When I decided to try a two-day fast, my intent was to begin short stints of fasting and clear my mental status.

I did my research. I am healthy. I’ve never had high blood pressure or internal organ issues, so, after checking it all out, it was a go. I chose a water fast. I would go two days without food, drinking a healthy amount of water each day.

I began on a Thursday, planning to end it on Friday and celebrate with a soft breakfast on Saturday. I felt determined and extremely interested in what my thought process would be. I purposely made sure I had no food in the house to keep myself clean of temptation.

Thursday started with a cup of coffee. I spent most of the day without hunger pains. At 12:16pm, I noted a growling stomach and a headache. I was feeling calm and having few thoughts of food. At 12:46 pm, I received an email notifying me that my phone bill was overdue. Shortly after making the payment arrangement, I thought of food. With a slight moment of worry, my brain had sent me to my addiction as a soothing mechanism. The fact that I had to write the emotion made me aware of the connection and able to work through it.

Here are some notes I took on day one.

“1:20 PM – Hunger pains. As the day gets later, I’m reasoning again; that I could eat light. Today I am focused on the accomplishment intention in this fasting.”

“1:52 PM – Feeling very focused”

“3:00 PM – Had a conversation with a friend about how difficult it is to find someone to date; how we wish we had that intimacy sometimes. Found myself thinking of food afterwards – possible comforting the feeling of lack of partnership?”

“4:30 PM – So need to eat something I feels – physically like shit – nausea is off the chain!”

I made it through day one by drinking a small cup of coffee in the evening to let the caffeine curb the nausea and headache. I got a decent night’s sleep.

Friday, I started the day again having a small cup of coffee. I spent the morning gulping water. My notes for the day proceeded as I continued to struggle with thoughts of food. At about 11:00 AM I thought about getting some soup, a bit of broth, just to curb the nausea.

“12:39 PM – stomach growling like a mofo – goddamit!”

My stomach was growling, and a slight headache was growing behind my eyes. I began to worry about not being able to sleep that night due to hunger pains.

“2:57 PM – Fuck whoever is cooking good smelling food nearby. I am commanding it to smell like a pig farm! I also feel oddly high and I haven’t smoked a damn thing.”

“4:15 PM – I’m reasoning with myself to just have a salad tonight – to change the fast and only eat a salad in the evening. Tummy growling audibly! Like a fucking choir from hell – a demon choir.”

“7PM – Had coffee with a friend who came to visit.”

“OKAY FINE! I also ate a small bit of bean and cheese burrito. SHAME SHAME SHAME!”

As Friday evening progressed, I gained an intense clarity and focus. I scrubbed my bathroom on my hands and knees. I completed a plethora of small tasks that had been sitting undone for days. In just two days of fasting, I had learned an immense amount of information about the way I think and how my emotions correlate with food. I felt inspired. I felt that my DNA had begun to reset itself.

I now intend to do five days soon. I love a good challenge. I have a competitive spirit. I want to fight my food addiction through this mental process.

I will journal it again, and share my experience with you.

Note:Please do your research and check with your doctor before fasting. If you deal with medical impairments, fasting may not be for you.

Sometimes it helps me to dump my head through visuals. I believe deeply in art and photography therapy for trauma survivors. Many of you say “but I’m not a good artist!” See, it’s not about being “good” in someone’s eyes, even your own. It’s about figuring out your method to expel pent up energy.

Slashes of red and orange paint swiped across a canvas can be an abstract release of anger. Photos of flowers you love can lift your spirits. There is no method set except the one you choose.

Here are a few examples of art pieces and photos of things that called my to me. If you’d like to see more, you can visit my art store at:

Like this:

I am a child, maybe around eight or nine years of age. I am in a large house with at least three stories and a basement. I am in the basement with many other children. We are moving large objects, too heavy for our small bodies to be moving on a consistent basis. I can’t quite make out exactly what the objects are. They are square, almost like blocks of concrete.

I am watching myself in third person, up against the ceiling looking down. My hair is somewhat matted as though it has not been washed in quite a long time. My face is dusty. I have on burlap pants and a t-shirt that is stained. I cannot see my feet to know if there are shoes on or if I am barefoot. I seem to have been down here for a very long time. All of us children have. I look tired, hopeless, worn, and moving methodically. We do not talk to each other. We do not look at each other. We move systematically, moving the large objects from a pile on one side of the basement to stack them neatly on the other side. I feel the heaviness of whatever we all are moving and organizing. I see the utter weariness in all our hunched over backs.

The dream scene changes. I am in my own body now. I am an adult now. I am sitting in a room with a large makeshift conference table. It is handmade with slabs of wood. There are many people around it in matching chairs made of tree trunks and tree limbs and nailed together pieces of board. I cannot see their faces. Only their forms. They are a mixture of mirage and shadow, shifting between color and black and white. I know I am being expelled from the house. I feel that this is a regular occurrence, that once we children reach adulthood, we are no longer needed there. I feel glad inside. I don’t understand why they aren’t worried that I and all the others they have released, will go to the authorities to tell on them. I am aware that my life has been spent in the basement. They are each talking to me, one at a time, as if giving instructions or even a farewell, but I am not listening. I am in my own head, devising a plan to come back for the children in the basement.

I awake this morning, with a pinched nerve beneath the left shoulder blade on my back. I let hot water pour onto it in the shower. I understand the emotion that moved through me last night. This reality of emotional pain is felt in multiple ways. It moves through my heart strings and sometimes settles into my muscles. It is not always mine. At times, it feels like the pain of every hopeless child wishing as I did when I was little, that someday someone would save me.

I am back in my high school town. Although there are no beaches in Martin, TN, I am perched, legs crossed, in front of one. This small beach boasts crystal clear, soft blue water rolling in with a slow, tender tide. I am sitting in an ancient stone colosseum. It is as if it was lifted from a fallen city and placed where it grandly sits now.

I am wearing an elegant black dress, shoulderless and simple. I glance down at my toes, perfectly painted deep blue and tucked inside of toeless, black heels. My hair is coifed and sprayed perfectly in place. I am grandly dressed for the symphony.

I am perched alone on one of the stone benches, closest to the stage which has been set up with the beautiful beach as scenery behind it. On stage is a large orchestra filled primarily with strings.

The music surrounds me. I close my eyes, feeling the soft embrace of the cello and the haunting tears of the violin strings.

Suddenly my right forearm begins to itch. I look down and see a red bump close to my wrist. It looks like I have been bitten by a mosquito. I scratch the bump, and when I do, the skin lifts and ants come scattering out of the hole in droves, covering my wrist and hand.